


Not the Tiger's Fault

by NervousAsexual



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Be Careful What You Wish For, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, but definitely non-con, domestic abuse, just non-sexual, not exactly rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8568967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: Allowing himself to be romanced by Hawke went against all of Fenris' better judgements and then some. But there are a few benefits to being with a mage--he might be able to magick up what you're looking for.Hawke, for instance, knows how to get rid of lyrium tattoos.(Finished!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Meta time! When I started my second playthrough of DA:II I decided to do the opposite of what I did in the first playthrough. Instead of a female rogue, Hawke would be a male mage. Instead of sarcastic, Hawke would be a straight-up asshole. Instead of siding with the mages, Hawke would side with the templars, just to prove how much of a dick he was. This turned out to be really hard to do until I restarted the game and made Hawke look as much like Donald Trump as possible. It turns out it's easy to be a jerk when you look like a half-rotten yam.
> 
> So anyway, since fem!Hawke romanced Merrill, I decided male!Hawke would romance Fenris, since he always seemed like kind of a jerk. It turns out, no. I was the jerk. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"Was it good for you?" Hawke quipped, collapsing like a felled tree onto the mattress.

But Fenris was in no condition to respond. Every bone in his hand ached as if hollowed out. He clutched at the wrist as if that would stop the pain spreading. But Hawke was right. The lyrium tattos were gone--just faded away where Hawke's hand held his.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke brought him food the next day. Ferelden stuff, mostly. It all seemed to Fenris to taste of cobwebs, but to be frank he could no longer live off the wine and pickled trusket feet in Denarius' store room. He ate mechanically, clockwise around any plate set before him. Hawke could have been feeding him raw lyrium and he wouldn't have noticed. He chewed. He swallowed. He looked at his hands. For the first time he could recall, they were blank. Only a few loose, empty veins remained. The bones themselves still ached. He had a difficult time doing so much as turning a sticky doorknob.

At night Hawke prepared to go fight bandits. He kept sheets of paper strewn about Fenris' mansion, plans, mostly, who would come with him and carrying what weapons. Isabella or Varric? Aveline or Carver? Merrill or Anders? Fenris could not help but notice his own name never appeared on these lists.

"You can't be serious," Hawke said when he asked.

In response, Fenris took down his greatsword, but his hands were too pathetically weak. The sword clattered to the floor.

"That should go away when we've finished," Hawke told him. "In the meantime, shall I do your wrists? Or no, probably better to take it slow. The lyrium shouldn't move that quickly."

"What does that mean?"

"Didn't I mention? The lyrium's liable to creep. What's in your arms is going to try moving down to where we cleared up the hands. Water finds its own level and all. So if we give you a day or so to recover, I'll have to start over on the back of your hands instead of the wrists. Waiting'll be a lot slower, but probably safer, anyhow."

"Don't wait," said Fenris.

He lay down on the mattress and laid his arms flat beside him. Hawke just stared at him sideways.

"Well? Do it."

Hawke sighed. "Alright." He climbed up and straddled Fenris' thighs. His sudden weight made Fenris' heart beat a little faster. "Don't say I never gave you the choice."

His hands clamped down, one on each of Fenris' wrists, tight and cold like shackles. An ancient fear reared up in the back of his head, but he swallowed it down.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

The pain that ripped through his wrists made him start, but no matter how strong the instinct to pull away grew Hawke's grip held him fast. His wrists were being crushed. They were bleeding, he could feel it, blood or lyrium or both being ripped through the skin. He squirmed and struggled, but Hawke was like a stone across his legs.

A bitter coldness spread up and down his arms, sapping his strength down to nothing. Eventually he could no longer struggle.

When Hawke let go his wrists he gasped in surprise, the only noise he'd made during the entire experience. Hawke rolled off to kneel at the side of the bed, panting.

"Wow," he gasped, grinning a crooked little grin. "That felt... incredible."

He wondered that their experiences could be so different, but then to Hawke lyrium only fed his power. He lay very still, trying to find his center.

"I'm going to Lowtown," Hawke said, staggering to his feet. "I have to burn some of this off." He started to stumble toward the door, then turned back and dragged the blanket so half of it lay across Fenris' body.

"You are incredible," he said, and then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

He napped a little--just a bit--and the mansion was quiet and empty when he awoke. He got out of bed, a little shaky on his feet, and carefully made his way down to the ground floor.

The lower rooms were filled with crates. Garbage, mostly, but he looked anyway, on the off-chance of finding something informative. Some of them were open. Those mostly held mage robes, boots, hoods, all easily identifiable as belonging to Denarius. What really caught his attention was the chest set against the stairwell.

Rats had been at it, evidently. A patch near one corner was missing, stripped down by sharp little teeth. Beyond the ragged edges he could make out sheaf after sheaf of paper. He couldn't make out the print, as if that would matter, but if he could only see them it would give him some degree of satisfaction. He desperately needed to see those papers and couldn't explain why.

He tried the lid. Locked. Of course. He reached around in the semi-dark and grabbed a knife from one of the open crates. The blade fit neatly between the jaws of the lid, but no matter how he twisted or pried nothing moved. He pounded at it with his sad weak fists, threw his body against it. The knife slid out and he and it clattered to the floor.

"Need some help there, Broody?"

The knife was in his hand and gone again before he knew what was happening, and he looked up to see Varric standing against the wall with the knife buried just a few inches above his head.

"I could have killed you."

"You're not the first to try. Is Hawke around?"

"Hawke?" His head ached and it was difficult to concentrate. "Hawke's gone. Lowtown. Or Darktown?"

Varric frowned. "Really. I take it he wasn't interested in what I had to say regarding this little venture."

Fenris shook the lid to the chest. It had not loosened at all.

"Let me get that for you." Varric came over and set to work with the lock picks he always seemed to have but never seemed to carry. "What's in it, anyway?"

"It's... it's nothing."

"Ah, yes. The kind of nothing you have to stab a few times, just to let it know how nothing it really is. That kind of nothing."

Tiny prickles of irritation tingled in his hands. "Look, if Hawke wants to listen to you talk nonsense, go find him. I don't have time for you."

Varric's hands still before the chest and instantly Fenris felt cold, searing regret. But the dwarf just shrugged and resumed his work. "Whatever you say, Broody."

The lock sprung open with a rusty click. Fenris shoved the lid back and almost immediately his eyes glazed over. Never in his life had he seen so much paper or so many words in one place. He tried to scan the top papers for the letters of his name. Nothing stuck out.

"So did you have any other locks needing sprung, or..."

"Why?" He turned sharply. "Because I was a slave?"

Varric put up his hands. "Sorry, wasn't thinking. I'll leave you to it. And if you see Hawke, tell him I missed him at The Hanged Man."

Instead he spent most of the night pushing through the papers, and when Hawke finally came back in the early morning hours he'd forgotten Varric, The Hanged Man, and anything that did not involved falling into bed and sleeping forever.


	4. Chapter 4

He swallowed his pride and asked Hawke about the chest of papers.

"Oh, Fenris," he said in a tone that was more irritating than comforting. "I don't have time to go through all those papers. Why don't you ask one of the others?"

But the others hated him. The only ones who tolerated him were Aveline and Varric. The guard captain, he knew, had no time for him, and while he didn't doubt Varric would be willing to help he did not have the energy to deal with a smart-mouthed dwarf.

Day by day Hawke's hands moved up his arms, leaving the skin behind bruised but clear. Fenris moved slowly through the halls, sealing the mansion rooms one by one. No rush. He sorted through the debris left by the magister, hoping that something there might jog his memory.

The trouble with his arms did not improve and that made the going difficult. But still progress was made. It seemed to amuse Hawke.

"What's the point of a mansion if you close up half the rooms?" he asked, laughing.

It made Fenris feel safer to know what was or wasn't in those rooms, but he was too hurt by the laughter to think.

"You're one to talk," he snapped.

Almost immediately he thought of Leandra's room, locked up tight, and knew what he'd said was unforgiveable. For a moment Hawke looked as if he would explode, but to his surprise the mage just walked away.

Hawke returned to strip the lyrium tattoos from his shoulders that night, and neither of them spoke. Hawke didn't stay long enough to think of bringing it up.

Fenris remained in bed through the night.


	5. Chapter 5

He saw no one but Hawke.

He didn't mind so much. The idea of spending time with the blood mage or the abomination held little merit. Working with the pirate was more of a chore than a team effort, and somehow Carver was even more exhausting than his brother.

Mostly he stayed in bed. There wasn't much he could do when Hawke's hands left his shoulders and started working up his legs.

Late one afternoon he heard Hawke's voice in the great-hall, echoing a conversation. It was one thing for Hawke to be over everyday, strutting around like he owned the place. For Hawke to invite guests was beyond reason.

His shins ached as if he'd broken both, but he managed to stand and hobble out toward the hall.

"I'll say one thing for him," Hawke was saying. "This place is bloody terrifying at night and he doesn't even seem to notice."

Lucky that banister was there as he stumbled along. He leaned hard on it. Looking down, he saw Hawke examining one of the locked doors and Varric observing from some distance away.

Varric was the first to notice him.

"Hello, Broody," he said. "Finally found Hawke."

Hawke glanced around before finally spotting him. "This door seems to be blocked, Fenris."

Fenris' mouth felt like he'd just swallowed a wad of cotton. "Yes."

"I wanted to go in. I was going to show Varric the bottles Denarius kept in his store."

"Maybe you should have asked before inviting the entire neighborhood into my home."

"No need to get up on my account," Varric said, but Hawke's face grew red.

"I don't see what difference it makes," he snapped. "You're supposedly sleeping this time of day."

That was true, but a doubt was worming its way into Fenris' head. Yes, he was usually asleep. Did that mean Hawke usually brought people over while he slept?

He wanted to shout back, but thinking back on the possibility of the lyrium slinking back down into his limbs made him hold his tongue.

"I moved most of the bottles into that spare bedroom." He gestured as best he could at the room opposite his own while trying not to crumple to the floor. "If you want to see those."

The anger in Hawke didn't quite turn off, but his face grew calmer.

"Come on," he said to Varric. Varric followed, but stared between the two of them as he came, eyebrows raised.

"You look different, Broody," he said as they passed. "New haircut?"

Feeling a little reckless, he braced his back against the banister and held up his arms so that Varric could see the backs. "New tattoos."

Varric looked from his arms to Hawke and back.

"Not bad," he said. "Hawke do that?"

Fenris nodded.

"Well." Varric turned to Hawke. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

He shuffled off to bed and fell asleep listening to the sound of Hawke and Varric talking across the way.

 

 

* * *

 

The bed jolted and he tried to sit up. He had to move--he was not waiting to find out what Denarius was going to do. Head aching, he pushed back the covers and tried to swing his legs off the bed. They wouldn't move. Hands clamped down on his thighs. The air smelled of sweat and lyrium.

"Why would you tell him that?" a voice demanded.

"Tell..." his own voice was still scratchy with sleep. "Tell who? Tell what?"

"You know damn well who I mean!"

It wasn't Denarius. Thought it was Denarius' scent, it was not his voice. "Hawke."

"Why. Would. You. Tell him?"

"Varric? What... what difference does it make?"

The pain started in his legs again, like they were being hollowed out. He could barely move.

"They aren't supposed to know! So you told the one person who can't be trusted to keep his damn mouth shut."

"I don't understand. Why does it matter?"

In answer Hawke grunted and pinned him even harder against the bed.

"You're acting like..." The blood or the lyrium was ripping up through his skin. "Like it's..." He felt so cold. "...like it's blood magic."

Hawke said nothing.

"It is, isn't it."

"You wanted them gone. They'll be gone."

"Not by blood magic!"

Hands shoved him down to emphasize each word. "Then maybe you should have kept your fucking mouth closed!"

What did he want? Fenris' whole life was just variations on trying to decide that theme.

"I doubt Varric will care," he rasped out, his best guess. "He... he always liked that little blood mage Merrill."

Hawke said nothing. When it was done he left and Fenris lay in the middle of the dusty bedspread, trying to convince himself it was alright to stay until the tattoos were finally gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Every second or third day Hawke re-stripped the tattoos from his upper arms. They just kept coming back--maybe a little lighter, it was hard to tell with the curtains drawn and the lamps out.

Once again he ate whatever Hawke brought to him. Not that it mattered. As the hands moved over his stomach he could hardly keep anything down. Mostly he drank. Whatever Hawke opened he drank. Sunblond vint. Warden's steed. Dragon piss. The only difference between them was in how much it burned coming back up.

His anxiety kept getting worse as Hawke's hands moved over important organs. What about his heart? His lungs? Would this kind of blood magic kill him once they were involved. There was nothing he could do but drink and worry.

The day came when Hawke's hands flattened themselves against his chest. It took all of his courage to whisper, "Hawke? I don't know if I want this anymore."

Hawke's face was hidden in shadows. At first he thought he'd spoken too quietly, but as he was working himself up to repeat those words Hawke said, "Now it's not what you want."

"I just... want to talk about it."

"What's there to talk about? We didn't talk about anything this entire time."

"I know."

"So saddle up and ride. We're too damn close to stop now."

He would have to be stronger next time, he thought as the lyrium was ripped from his skin. He would have to figure out how to make him understand.

It was hard to breathe.

Hard to stay awake.

 

He must have slept an entire day. When he opened his eyes again Hawke was sitting across his hips, hands jammed against his collarbones.

He wanted to say, no.

He wanted to say, stop.

Instead he blinked away hot, fat tears and said nothing.

 

He opened the curtains. It was all he could think to do. It was all he had the strength to do.

It was all he could do to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, we've got two or possibly three more chapters coming, depending on how I decide to break them up. Either way, we're coming up on the end.
> 
> I really hope you guys have enjoyed this so far. The structure of remembering to put up these chapters every week is the only thing keeping me sane. :)


	7. Chapter 7

He was awake when Hawke returned, with the anxiety ripping through every limb. He felt worse than before but as Hawke crouched over him he said, "No."

He felt the hands close around his throat.

"Please stop." If only Hawke had brought somebody again. He wouldn't have cared if it were Anders, or Merrill, or Varric.

Hawke's hands tightened.

"I don't want this anymore."

"Shut up," Hawke said, and his throat closed off.

This was nothing, he tried to tell himself. After everything that had brought him to this moment, after everything Denarius had done to him, this hardly even mattered. He tried to remind himself--he loved Hawke, and Hawke loved him. Right?

Hawke's hands didn't let up. He could hear himself choking, but it wasn't himself, exactly. It was somebody else lying there on the bed, exactly as he had done back in Tevinter. Exactly as it had been with Denarius.

And Denarius had loved him too.

He needed to be somewhere, anywhere else.

He tried. He did try. But his arms felt so heavy. He couldn't twist away. He couldn't fight free.

He knew he was going to die, and no one else would know or care.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! This chapter is a little short. but I figured this way we should finish up on December 22 as a nice little Christmas present for you and me. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry for the belated chapter--work is hell)

He awoke with a splitting headache, but he was alive. He was almost sorry. If he'd died it wouldn't matter what Hawke did to him.

The bed was scattered with empty bottles. If he'd have been nearer to the nightstand or the bedpost he would have smashed the bottle against something and cut his own throat. Instead he gathered the bottles to him with his weak weak arms and tried to crush them with his weight.

The bottles clinked together but didn't break. He felt the tears coming, and the hopelessness, and then he heard a knock at the door.

Hawke. A tiny flame of hope flared up inside him. Maybe he could antagonize him. Insult Leandra, call him a blood mage, anything that might make him angry enough to kill him. This was his last chance.

"Knock knock, Broody," said a gravelly voice that was definitely not Hawke's.

He froze. He was still dreaming. It was one of those terrible dreams where he remembered who he was, remembered his family, where everything came together before he woke up and it all disappeared like dust in the wind.

"Wow. You smell like shit."

But when he was dreaming he never hurt like this...

"I saw the curtains open and figured something must be happening. You and daylight go together like..."

With every bit of strength he had in him Fenris turned enough to see the dwarf standing in the doorway. "Varric."

Where had he been last night? Why now? Why after all this?

Varric looked small and nervous, standing in the doorway with one hand reached back to touch Bianca. "You're not looking so pretty today. Should I go find Hawke?"

"No." He said it more forcefully than he thought possible. "Get me out of here."

Varric laughed a little. "Out of here? Broody, you live here."

"Varric, please."

The laughter stopped. "Okay, okay. I'll just... find a wheelbarrow for you or something."

"Don't go." If Hawke came back...

"I know I look the definition of strong and rugged, but unless you're walking out of here I'm going to need help. I could send for Carver."

"No! I mean... no. Just help me down to the street. I'll figure out what to do from there."

"Aveline's right around the corner. I get her and she could probably carry us both out of here."

"I need to be gone before Hawke gets back."

Varric heaved a sigh. "Fine. Come on, then."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it, guys! The very last chapter!
> 
> Thank you for taking this long, weird journey with me. Hope you enjoyed it, and Merry Holidays to all ya'll!

He told Varric everything.

Somehow they made it back to Lowtown and a pair of completely drunk and overly cheerful Antivans hauled him up the stairs of the Hanged Man to Varric's place. He started talking when they dropped him onto the bed and didn't stop until the brazier was nothing but ashes.

For a storyteller, Varric was a good enough listener. He didn't say anything, just listened through to the end of the story.

"Thank you for telling me," he said, and disappeared around the corner.

The Hanged Man was so much warmer than the mansion. Instead of dusty the bed was stiff and clean, and covered in an embarrassing number of pillows. He curled up in the middle like some kind of nesting animal and slept like he was dead. He probably could have slept forever if he hadn't heard Hawke's voice on the stairs.

He woke up to Hawke shouting, "He is my boyfriend and I'll go where I damn well please!" and his entire body went cold.

"Would you slow down? I can't..."

On the other side of the wall the door slammed open. His fingers dug into the blanket. He felt sick down through his stomach.

In the firelight he saw Hawke approach the foot of the bed.

"There you are," Hawke said. "Why'd you run off without telling me?"

His throat was trying to close off. He tried to swallow but there was nothing to choke down. "Hawke, it's done."

"What is? The mansion? Did you finally lock up all the rooms?"

What? He felt light-headed, like he was about to sneeze but couldn't. "I don't want you touching me. Just... just leave the tattoos."

"So they can start drifting again? Oh, Fenris. We're so close to the end. I don't want all our hard work--all your hard work--to be for nothing."

It was hard to remember. Were they talking about the same thing? His head ached. "You hurt me."

"Only to help you. Come on. We can finish up right here. It'll just be done. No more worrying. Just done."

Hawke came closer and closer, and his heart was in his throat. He was going to die. Didn't matter what he did. If Hawke's hands touched him he was going to die. He closed his eyes and prayed to anyone--the Tevinter pantheon, the Andrastean Maker, the Qun, anything and anyone--

And then overhead he heard the whoosh and thwock of a crossbow bolt passing over. Hawke threw himself down on the foot of the bed and Fenris choked down a gasp, and behind them, crossbow shouldered and another bolt already ready to go, stood Varric.

"Sorry, Hawke," he said, "but would you mind leaving? You're scaring Bianca."

Hawke scrambled to his feet. "Why are you shooting? This has nothing to do with you."

Varric shrugged. "My home, my business. Strange how that works."

"Fenris."

He could barely catch his breath.

"Fenris, are you really going to let them all come back, when we're so close to having them gone for good?"

"Please leave me alone."

For a moment Hawke looked as if he were about to get angry again, but he took a deep breath and plastered a smile across his face. "Of course. We'll talk about it some other time. Right?"

His bones felt like water.

Hawke turned away and tipped his head to the dwarf. "Varric."

He could barely think straight as Hawke left. It all felt like a dream. Had it been a dream?

Looking down his at his fingers, still wrapped around the blanket, all he could see was the pale lines that used to be lyrium.

"He... he wasn't like that before."

Varric grunted, and put Bianca back on the table.

"I swear on my life. I thought he would... he would..."

Now Varric was coming over. More prayers flew through his head and his fingers tightened as much as they could. The words spilled out faster.

"I honestly thought..." He couldn't keep up. "He wasn't like that when... I know this does..."

"Never said I don't believe you."

What?

Struggling to make sense of the words.

Make no sense in that order.

"That's a story I know a little too well. Seems nice enough, as long as you're doing what he wants. Step outside the line, though..." There was a sigh, then the mattress creaked and dipped beside him. "I've heard it too many times to ignore it."

He didn't dare open his eyes. "I have to leave. If I stay it's not just him. It's Carver, Aveline, Isabella..."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Do you think they'd rather listen to the version told by some asshole bloodmage, or the one by yours truly, bestselling author and storyteller?"

Like a baby animal he wrapped an arm around Varric's waist and held on as tightly as he could. He swallowed down the sobs, again and again, and barely had the energy to ask, "Why does this keep happening?"

He didn't have it in him to explain--how could he have been so stupid, to go directly from Denarius to Hawke, to have learned nothing, but Varric said--a little too empathetically--"I wish I had an answer for you, Fenris." He cleared his throat, and Fenris felt an arm wrap protectively around his shoulders.

"You'll be alright. He's not nearly as strong as he thinks he is. Not like us."

He only cried a little. He didn't feel very strong. He didn't feel very safe. But maybe it would be okay.


End file.
